


Honestly

by Zaeli_Echo



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Domestic fluff that almost turns into smut, M/M, What Have I Done, it would have turned into smut but I lost steam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-28
Updated: 2018-07-28
Packaged: 2019-06-17 20:30:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15469440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zaeli_Echo/pseuds/Zaeli_Echo
Summary: Cas is a heat-seeker.Dean is a furnace.Semi-unconscious cuddling.Dorkdom, cooking, and almost smut(?) ensues.





	Honestly

Honestly? Truthfully? Honest truth? Hand-on-the-bible truth? 

Castiel  **hates** being human. 

I mean sure, he can taste things without tasting the individual molecules, and see in color instead of just infrared and ultraviolet (color is  **so pretty** !), and see faces instead of just souls, and drink away his worries with alcohol (which takes a lot - he has a very high tolerance), but he  **feels** . Not just emotions (The crack in the lens, the grit in the sensitive instrument, as the character Sherlock Holmes put it)(He had feelings before his fall anyway). He has a sense of touch. He could feel things’ energies when his vessel made contact with them before, but he couldn’t feel temperatures. Not really.

And right now?

He’s  **cold.**

He’s  **shivering.**

And it’s so  **frustrating!**

Because he  **doesn’t know how to fix it.**

_ Perhaps _ , he thinks,  _ Dean will be able to help. _

This is a good plan. Dean will know what to do.

Dean knows a lot about being human.

Well, duh.

He is one.

Mind made up, Cas pads down the hall to Dean’s room. The door is open and he can hear the deep huffs of breath that tell him that the elder Winchester was asleep. Deep sleep. REM sleep. He is probably lost in his dreams right now. Hopefully somewhere happier, and not reliving memories of the past that Castiel knows haunt the hunter. He debates turning back, or maybe asking Sam what to do. He banishes the thought of asking Sam almost immediately. The younger brother is always so stressed, and always wakes with the sun to go jogging. He needs his sleep. Cas will leave Sam alone. Oh, but the thought of going back to his cold room makes Castiel shiver all the harder. That won’t do. Stoically, he makes up his mind. He’s just gonna crawl under the covers with Dean. He’s sure the hunter won’t mind. They slept together for warmth often enough in Purgatory. It can’t be all that different now. 

The fallen angel shucks his trenchcoat and slacks, snatching a dirty t-shirt from the pile in the corner and changing into that from his dress-shirt. 

He likes Dean’s t-shirts. 

They’re nice. 

And soft.

And they smell like Dean.

Lifting the covers as little as possible so as to not wake the hunter, Cas slides under the covers, lying on his back a respectable few inches from Dean. It has taken years, but the hunter has finally started to help the angel-on-low understand personal space. Castiel can feel himself warming up already, the furnace of a hunter quickly filling the sheets with mind-melting heat. Cas sighs quietly as his shivers start to slack off with the warmer temperature.

Dean gives a low hum beside Castiel, turning so that he’s facing the ex-angel. As annoying as it is that sleep still eludes him, Cas can’t help but admire the hunter. He knows every molecule in the body before him. He rebuilt it from the atoms up, and he’ll never admit it to anyone, but he may have made the hunter’s body a little more muscular than it had been before. The faint lines separating the muscles in the older Winchester’s arms were defined even in sleep, and Castiel has to force himself not to trace them with his fingertips.

Honestly, Castiel is proud of his artistry. Every freckle and scar is placed perfectly. Every muscle is sculpted to perfect proportion. Every hair is right where it should be. There is no flaw in the hunter’s physique.

Dean gives another low hum, scooting closer to Castiel.

Another hum. This one sounds like a half-formed word.

    “What are you saying, Dean?” Castiel murmurs, not expecting that the hunter will hear him.

Another hum. Clearer this time.

    “Pie.”

Castiel has to internalize his automatic laugh. Of course the hunter is dreaming about pie. How fitting. At least it seems like a good dream.

    “Pie.” The hum is a little louder this time. More insistent.

The tall hunter scoots even closer, looping his arms around Castiel’s waist and pulling him flush against his sleeping form. The ex-angel freezes.

    “Mmmh. Pie.” Dean hums again, this time more sated-sounding.

    “Dean. I’m not your pie.” Castiel stays still though. He’s even warmer this way, with Dean wrapped around him like this.

Another muted hum. Castiel sighs, resigned. At least he’s not cold.

He’s just starting to drift when something touches him just under his ear, startling him awake. He glances at Dean, only to find that what touched him is the hunter’s nose, tucked right against the top of Cas’s neck.

Cas smiles. Of course Dean is a cuddler. Under his rough exterior, the hunter’s soul is warm and inviting. The picture of comforting and soft. Cuddling personified. It’s quite cute, actually.

Cas is busy with his thoughts, trying to calm them so he can sleep, when something warm and wet touches his cheek. He forces himself not to jerk away.

**Dean just** **_licked_ ** **him** _. _

What?

  “Pie.” Dean hums again, dragging his tongue along Castiel’s jawline.

It makes Cas shiver.

Dean hums again, mouth stopping at the corner of Cas’s jaw and sucking gently, just a hint of teeth scraping over his short stubble.

    “Mmmhmmm… pie.”

Cas doesn’t stop him, whimpering quietly as the hunter moves down his throat, sucking at his pulse point with particular interest.

Honestly? Truthfully? Honest truth? Hand-on-the-bible truth?

Castiel doesn’t  **want** Dean to stop.

It feels  **good** .

Dean moves even further down, taking his time on Castiel’s adam’s apple, before becoming decidedly rougher as his focus moves to the angel-on-low’s collarbone.

    “Pie.” He growls.

    “Tasty.” Another soft suck.

    “Sweet.” This time the teeth aren’t as gentle, and Castiel doesn’t know whether to be pleased or pissed that it’ll leave a mark.

Honestly, it took all of Castiel’s resolve to press a finger to Dean’s forehead and use one of his last tendrils of grace to put the hunter’s dreams elsewhere: on a memory of he and Sam on the Fourth of July many years ago.

Castiel simply lets himself curl against the hunter as he surrenders to a deep dreamless sleep.

-

Castiel wakes when Sam does, gently disentangling himself from Dean - who is  **quite** the cuddler - and venturing to the bathroom to relieve himself.

As the ex-angel stands in front of the mirror to shave, he notices something that  **most definitely** was not there yesterday.

A trail of lilac bruises trace a meandering line down his throat from his jaw to his collarbone.

_ Oh, father damn-it _ . He growls to himself. How on his father’s green Earth is he going to explain this to Sam. Or Dean. He hasn’t enough grace to heal them, so he’s pretty much stuck with them.

Castiel grumpily finishes his morning routine, resigned to whatever he will have to face when he walks through the common-room door.

Thus, when he walks through said common-room door, he is  **very** glad to find it empty.

Continuing his routine, Castiel pours himself a cup of coffee - Sam always makes a pot before he goes jogging - and sinks down in one of the cushioned chairs in front of the already-lit fireplace. He reminds himself to thank Sam when he gets back.

He’s not even three sips into his coffee when Dean meanders into the room, stretching and rubbing the heel of his hand over his eyes.

    “Hello, Dean.” Castiel greets him in the usual manner, sipping at his coffee.

The hunter grumbles a sleepy response, shambling over to the counter and pouring himself a mug of coffee. He then shuffles over and seats himself in the chair opposite Cas.

They drink their coffee in silence for a while, just soaking in the caffeine and the heat of the fireplace.

Castiel’s mind has finally calmed and drifted away from his - er -  **souvenirs** when Dean makes a funny noise in the back of his throat, almost choking on his coffee.

    “Cas? You get lucky and forget to tell me?” The older Winchester is watching Castiel with his trademark smirk, eyes fixed on the hickeys trailing down the ex-angel’s throat.

Cas licks his lips and glances away, feeling a hot flush trying to crawl its way up his throat.

Dean shifts, smirk spreading even wider.

    “I thought you were bunkerside last night. Where’d you find the lucky gal?”

Castiel continues to avoid eye contact.

    “Or guy?” The hunter presses.

    “Trust me, Dean. You do not want to know from whom I received these.”

This time, Dean’s expression falls to a scowl.

    “Please don’t tell me you didn’t have another fling with a reaper. You  _ do _ remember what happened with April, right?” There’s concern in the hunter’s voice now

Cas shakes his head, smiling faintly.

    “I do remember. I would not make that mistake twice. What’s the phrase? Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me.”

    “Fool me three times, shame on the both of us. Yeah. Mom used to tell me that all the time when I would make a mistake or get into a fight.” There is a sad smile on the hunter’s face as he lapses into memory.

Castiel relaxes, thinking he’s dodged a bullet for now.

Apparently,  _ for now _ doesn’t last very long.

    “You still haven’t answered my question, Cas.” Dean pipes up after a moment, smirking again.

Cas clears his throat. Maybe this’ll work like ripping off a bandage. Just get it over with, right?

    “Deanyougavethemtome,” He stumbles over the words, but doesn’t bother to repeat them, averting his eyes and taking another sip of coffee.

Silence stretches for an uncomfortably long time before the Hunter clears his throat.

    “What?” He croaks. Castiel risks a glance at the man, and finds his eyes locked with the same sparkling green ones that held him captive so many times before.

Castiel swallowed thickly.

    “You heard me, Dean.” The hot flush from earlier has succeeded in coloring his ears and cheeks and is marching slowly up the back of his neck.

    “ _ I _ gave them to you? I - wha --  _ when?!” _ The hunter sputters, cheeks turning scarlet.

Castiel sighs, resigned, and proceeds to tell the hunter what transpired.

    “I was cold. I came down the hall to ask you what to do, but you were asleep. I did not want to wake you or Sam, so I decided I would stay with you. I remembered that we often slept together for warmth in Purgatory, so I did not think you would mind. I changed into one of your shirts. You were dreaming about pie, if your sleeptalking is to be believed. You kept saying “pie”. After a few minutes, you pulled me into your chest. I was still cold, so I did not mind. Then, well…” Castiel feels his cheeks heating even more. He  **really** doesn’t want to explain the rest.

    “Then I- I did  _ that? _ ” The hunter finishes for him, sparing the fallen angel the embarrassing task of summarizing the rest.

Cas nods, eyes fixed on the fire, and sips at his coffee some more.

Honestly? Truthfully? Honest truth? Hand-on-the-bible truth?

Castiel definitely does not see Dean’s reaction coming.

What is the hunter’s reaction, you ask?

He does nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

Castiel expects the fiery hunter to throw something.

Or shout.

Or growl something hostile at the angel-on-low and stalk out of the room.

Or maybe a combination.

But Dean does none of the above, choosing to watch the fire and sip at his coffee as if nothing had happened. The only indicator that the conversation transpired is the fair shade of scarlet on the hunter’s ears and cheeks.

Castiel is confused, but lets the subject drop. If Dean doesn’t want to linger on it, Castiel will respect that.

The heavy door to the bunker swings open with a hiss, announcing Sam’s return from his jog.

    “Mornin’ Sammy. How was your morningly self-inflicted-torture?” Dean calls to his brother, a half-smirk on his face.

    “Productive. Our borders are clear, O’ handmaiden of the queen.” The taller hunter snarks back.

    “I thought you said you’d drop that.” Dean whines, shooting the trademark Winchester Bitchface at his brother as he descends the stairs.

-

The rest of the day passes without a hitch. The brothers are taking a week off from hunting to rest, so they spend their days doing relatively common domestic activities. They clean out old rooms (turns out, Castiel+Dust=lots of sneezing that is very annoying for Cas and  **very** amusing for the Winchesters). They read for fun (although, knowing Sam, he is probably reading something they could use at some point) instead of for research. They cook lunch (Dean makes a mean grilled cheese).

-

Sam has just left to have dinner with an old college friend that happens to be in town, leaving Dean and Castiel to cook dinner and “hold down the fort”, as the younger Winchester put it.

Castiel, deciding to pay Dean back for making lunch, starts to work on a simple-looking dish from one of the cookbooks Sam dug out of the library.

As it turns out, garlic chicken is actually as easy as the cookbook says it is. The pantry holds the ingredients that Cas needs, and there are some chicken breasts left in the freezer from Sam’s last grocery run.

Dean has a hard time fathoming that Castiel made it, teasing that his “bumbling clueless angel is finally growing up”. This is frustrating, but Cas has a mouthful of food at that time, so he settles for an unamused stare. It’s not their usual eye-contact though, seeing as Dean’s gaze doesn’t meet his, hovering somewhere a little lower than the ex-angel’s eyes.

They finish their meal and Cas insists on washing the dishes, much to the hunter’s distaste.

    “You made it, Cas. You shouldn’t have to clean it up too!” He grumbles, trying to snatch the dish towel from Cas. He admits defeat after a minute or two of arguing and ambles off.

Honestly? Truthfully? Honest truth? Hand-on-the-bible truth?

Cas **likes** washing dishes.

It’s calming.

It’s a task that doesn’t require much thought, and allows the fallen angel a few minutes to let his mind to be still and tranquil.

Sam doesn’t seem to mind the task being taken off his hands.

Dean only grumbles about it on days when Cas helps cook.

So Cas considers it his job.

He hums to himself as he starts drying. It’s a tune Dean likes to sing when he’s relaxed and trying to get ready to sleep. Cas thinks he remembers Dean saying that it’s called “Smoke on the Water”.

He’s so absorbed in his task that he doesn’t notice Dean coming up behind him until strong hands creep across his back to rest on his hip bones.

    “Dean?” Castiel questions. This is rather sudden.

Dean just hums in response, startling the fallen angel by mouthing gently at the base of his neck.

Castiel shivers and has to bite back a whine.

Because **dear Father** that feels good.

    “I was awake for the last bit, you know.” The hunter murmurs against Castiel’s skin.

The angel-on-low doesn’t respond, not trusting his voice as Dean’s arms loop around his waist.

    “Why’d you put me back to sleep, hmm?” The hunter continues, scraping his teeth on the lobe of Cas’s ear, drawing a low sound from him. “Worried you wouldn’t be able to control yourself?” He kisses along the shell of Castiel’s ear.

_ He  _ **_must_ ** _ know that he’s tickling a sleeping dragon, right? _ Cas thinks to himself as the hunter mouths at the juncture where Cas’s neck meets his shoulder.

    “Or were you worried you wouldn’t be able to control  _ me _ .” Dean continues to tease, before he is cut short with a broad hand over his mouth.

    “I suggest that you stop. I may be human now, but I still possess far more power than you.” Castiel growls, having turned around in Dean’s embrace. He knew his eyes must be blazing. It has been a long time since he has felt this stimulated. Even April couldn’t get this much of a rise out of him.

Dean’s green eyes flash, and he quirks an eyebrow in challenge. Cas removes his hand, allowing the hunter to speak.

    “Hmm… maybe physical power. Don’t think I haven’t noticed the sway I hold over you, silly angel.” The tall hunter hums, a self-satisfied smirk curling one corner of his lips.

Castiel glances away, blushing hot. He had hoped it wasn’t that obvious.

    “See? Completely at my mercy…” Dean purrs the last word, lifting Castiel’s chin with two knuckles.

Honestly? Truthfully? Honest truth? Hand-on-the-bible truth?

The hunter is right.

Castiel, former angel of the lord, leader of a garrison of some of the Lord’s most powerful weapons, angel of Thursday, is completely at the mercy of the righteous man.

_ At least for now _ . An unhelpful corner of his mind whispers.

Castiel’s own blue eyes are completely captured by Dean’s green ones, darkened by what Cas can only call lust.

Well…

They are until the green ones holding them captive flutter closed and Dean dips his head to press his lips to Castiel’s.

And  **Oh, father in heaven** , they are  **soft** .

Castiel closes his eyes and leans into Dean’s chest, parting his lips to reciprocate. The hunter’s tongue traces the seam between Castiel’s lips before pressing through, engaging Castiel in a slow slide of lips and tongue that quickly becomes a battle for dominance. A rough hand cards through Castiel’s short hair, gripping gently at the dark strands and drawing a moan from Cas’s throat.

Cas feels Dean smirk against his lips as he draws away teasingly, pressing a flurry of quick kisses to the fallen angel’s lips.

    “Still more powerful?” Dean whispers, mouthing at the already-marked corner of Castiel’s jaw.

Something clicks into place in Castiel’s mind, and he lets a low growl rumble deep in his throat.

    “Yes.” He snarls, spinning them roughly so that Dean is pressed against the counter.

Honestly? Truthfully? Honest truth? Hand-on-the-bible truth?

Castiel thinks he must have accidentally used the last of his grace to fly them to Dean’s room, because he sure doesn’t remember getting there.

And now Dean is splayed on the bed with his wrists pinned next to his head by Castiel’s hands.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Do with this what you will. If you want to write the next chapter and let the bois get it on, go for it. I encourage it.  
> Comments are my drug. Enable the author.  
> I love you~! <3


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